The Right Time
by liveandlove1989
Summary: A possible collection of one-shots between paired characters from any of the Dragon Age games. Starting with a few of my own but requests can be submitted and I'll see what I can do. Really awful description, sorry about that. Rating may change later. Warning in advance for possible language, suggestiveness.
1. Cullen x Lavellan

"And I do believe this game is mine once more," Cullen murmured, lips pursed to suppress a cocky smirk as he leaned back in his seat.

Inquisitor Lavellan cocked her head, mouth opening then closing in surprise. Her dark obsidian eyes seemed to bore a hole into the infernal board, scrutinizing it like it was an enemy sellsword. A twitch of her wrist had the muscles in Cullen's throat tensing beneath his flesh, unable to help the reflexes of being around a very capable mage.

That wasn't to say he didn't trust her. On the contrary, she was one of the few people he could honestly and openly express a fondness for. She was strong, independent. A bit rambunctious and overzealous at times, but always considerate. And she never used her magic in front of anyone unless an emergency deemed it acceptable. A product of being surrounded by Templars, perhaps, but still kindly.

But she was still a mage. And the way she was seething at the game board propped between them was something even he couldn't deny might lead to its inevitable combustion.

He cleared his throat noisily. "Inquis-" He was stopped by her eyes, bright and edgy and searing. They took his breath away, briefly, before he found his tongue once more. "Azariah," he corrected, mouth suddenly too dry. "If you'd like, we could try once more."

She cocked her head, frown morphing fast into something more akin to a smirk, lips upturning and inviting in the best of her teases. "Oh? I'm afraid I still won't win. Perhaps I'll stick to strategies strictly on the battlefield, yes?"

Cullen smiled lightly, though in his chest his heart erupted. She had that sort of effect, always. "That would probably be best, yes."

Dark, coal eyelashes dipped down, obscuring his sight of her eyes only momentarily. When next she looked at him, there was something new in her gaze. Something he hadn't seen before. Something probing, searching. Something that took the breath from his lungs once more, but for a new reason. A slightly painful experience.

But just as her full lips had parted and he could have sworn he'd witnessed her tongue darting out at the corner, a raven landed between them. His eyes ripped from her down to the fluttering, cawing, scrambling bird, who flapped its wings in an attempt to keep propped up along the table's edge. Standing out vividly against the bold black feathers and feet sat a hastily tied piece of parchment, tan and neatly folded.

Azariah's hands were out in a heartbeat, soothing the creature, voice a murmur as her thin brows drew down and her fingers ran across the bird's back. She was gentle but purposeful, offering a sense of peace that the animal seemed to accept after another caw and shake of its wings.

He admired that, too, though it wasn't something he could really say was all her alone. That connection to nature, to every living thing. Solas had once mentioned it being a trait associated with the majority of the Dalish, what with their way of life. They were not as fearful a people as most believed them to be.

Still, watching her now was amazing regardless.

He'd heard about her trips up to the rookery simply to feed the raven's there from Leliana. He'd overheard stories about her getting halla and druffalo alike to come right up and let her treat them if injured from those she'd take on missions, such as Blackwall and Dorian. He himself had witnessed her in the stable, brushing down a horse, humming to a dracolisk.

By the time he'd zoned back in from his thoughts, she was quietly reading the now unfolded parchment and absently grazing her fingertips across the bird's back, along the dip between its wings. Its beady, black eyes trained on him, head cocking, but it didn't make a sound.

"What is it?" he finally asked, when he noticed that her eyes had stopped moving even though they remained where they were.

As if snapped from a trance she blinked. Her fingers ceased their movement and she looked up, smiling lightly. "Just Leliana. Apparently after her talk with Hawke, we're expected to head out to the Western Approach. Accompanied, of course, by a few scouts. Apparently the Venatori camping out there are only rivaled by the hyenas and varghausts."

Cullen grimaced, noticeably, and Azariah couldn't help laughing quietly. "I know, sounds awfully dreadful. But if it gets us closer to Corypheus, I'm up for a little big game hunting."

The commander threw his own chuckle into the mix, leaning forward and accidentally causing the raven to flutter, drawing his eyes. "Just so long as we don't get another dreaded report from a sulking Bull informing us you've ran head on into another dragon and taken it down single handedly." There was a crookedness to his lips, but something in his voice spoke general concern. No matter how strong, how hard headed the Inquisitor was, she was just a woman.

And he hated seeing her hurt.

Said woman rolled her eyes, pushing back from the table. "I'm afraid that's a promise I can't make, Commander." The quirk to her brow was humorous, however. Telling him she also didn't plan on being a high dragon's snack anytime soon. "But, I can promise you you'll see me again."

"I don't doubt that," he offered, watching her stretch, eyes darting down and catching how the material to her tunic rose just enough to offer the faintest flash of tanned stomach. There was that dryness to his mouth again. "I just can't help worrying in what fashion."

Thin brows pulled down teasingly. Azariah made a show of leaning down, palms flat against the table, beside the forgotten board. The raven cawed, shrieked, took flight. But he could care less as her face grew closer, charcoal eyelashes fluttering and obsidian eyes dancing.

He could smell the sweetness of crushed berries, see the way they gave her lips a nice pink tone. He could smell something spicy mixing with the lather she used for her hair, keeping it a shiny, vivid blonde that teetered dangerously close to winter white. He could feel the warmth of her breath as it ghosted over his cheek, his lips.

His own eyelids fluttered, tipping his head enough so their lips brushed. He felt her grin, felt her lips move. Her words were a throaty whisper against his mouth. "Preferably in my chambers, yes? Without this dreadful fur," she teased, gripping a handful and tugging lightly for emphasis, "and this armor," and her hand trailed down, pressing firmly to his chest plate.

He let out a sound that was half laugh half whimper, leaning up and in to fully capture her lips with his own. They were just as firm and full as they appeared, but giving and soft. They melded against his own, offering, delicate. And they tasted so sweet it had his head spinning.

When they parted he very nearly growled, hands twitching and gripping the chair to keep from threading his fingers into her hair. From pressing her into the nearest wall and forgetting that they were out in the open so long as she let him, so long as they were together, so long as she just kissed him like that again.  
But her tinkering laugh had his eyes narrowly opening, and he watched as she backed away, fingers trailing along his chest until they couldn't, standing straight again and grinning down at him like a bubbly child.

Biting her lower lip briefly, she crossed her arms loosely over her chest. "Well, I guess I have to have a word with Varric, he'll definitely want to go. And Blackwall, since he's a Warden, too. Do you think Viv would wanna come, or should I take Dorian? Or Solas. We haven't spoken in a while. Ever since I started taking Sera out on runs, he's stayed here. Can't deal with the arguing, he says."

She was speaking to herself, he knew, and it was too cute. She had that habit, he'd noticed. When she couldn't decide on something, she spoke aloud, whether it be about the layout of a battle or what to have for lunch. It was just another one of those things he couldn't help but adore.

Leaning forward, letting his elbows rest against the table top, he smiled up at her. "I'd say Dorian for this one. He's been oddly fascinated by this whole situation. Vivienne seemed preoccupied last I spoke with her." And, truth be told, he wasn't completely sure of Solas. Even after all this time, something about the elven apostate threw him through a loop. And it had nothing to do with his strange obsession over all things Fade related.

Azariah nodded in understanding. "Okay, sounds good. I'll also have Iron Bull take the Chargers through with Harding. Maybe clear the path a little more securely. Last thing we need is a pack of rabid varghausts raiding one of our camps."

"Mm. When will you take leave?"

Obsidian met crystal blue. "By midday in three days' time. There are still a few things here to attend to. And Josie is very insistent I learn each and every relatively mentioned Orlesian dance before the Ball coming up. I'm very highly suspecting I'll have no sleep for at least the next night just to make sure I receive as much advise as is possible."

Cullen chuckled lowly, pulled at his collar. "My door is always opened, Azariah. If ever you find yourself overwhelmed, you're welcome."

A glint ignited in her eyes. She smirked more fiercely. "Oh? And here I was hoping to be overwhelmed by you."

He laughed, but it was a choking laugh that couldn't hide the way his cheeks burned or the way his hand came up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. That all too familiar, all too revealing trait that told of his embarrassment. "Y-yes, well... Perhaps."

* * *

 **A/N: _Don't ask, hah. Tbh, I'm just experimenting at this point with different pairings and one-shot type stories. Those of you that like this, tell me what you're thinking. I'm considering this maybe becoming like a request thing? Idk I've written for a lot of pairings, some common, others not._**

 ** _If you wanna see if I can do a pairing justice, comment what pairing that should be! Thanks for giving this a shot guys. -_ LL**


	2. Krem x Lavellan

It was quiet. Deathly so. Even the wind, blowing clean and through the lapping waves, couldn't give enough momentum to the rushing water to send it cascading along the shore. The Storm Coast was a sleeping place.

Atop a cliff, she practiced. Dodging and feinting, pivoting on the balls of her feet. Each motion poised and fluid, drawn from muscle memory. Her twin daggers were the only things to disturb the night; her breath was sharp and quick, a short in and out as her body moved, twisted. Sweat beaded along her brow, harshly wiped away by a bare wrist as it darted to the side of her head, poised for a vicious down strike that left her imaginary foe permanently crippled.

Until the brittle crunch of dry grass underfoot alerted her to the presence of another.

Instinct dictated that she twist round in a flashy blur, blades crossing and stilling just shy of the base of a pale, exposed throat. The figure barely flinched, small smile the only sign he found the defensive maneuver unnecessary. "Fine night for a practice bout, eh?" he spoke.

Lavellan scoffed, lowered her weapons to her sides and took a step back. "Shouldn't you be on watch?" She asked coarsely, returning the daggers to their sheaths with a careful, respectful motion.

Krem's small smile morphed into a full grin across his features; his hand came up to run fingers through the tousled hair that told of a fitful night. That, and the dark rings under his eyes that screamed a lack of any meaningful sleep. "In a bit. Grim still has that honor, as it is. Think I'd leave my post unchecked, Inquisitor?"

Lavellan scowled, dropping her gaze to the well-beaten rocks meters below them, lazily being caressed by the foaming sea. "Don't call me that. I've no illusion as to who I am."

Krem hummed his understanding, taking the moment to let his eyes roam - he'd never dare do such a thing should she be looking his way.

She was smaller without her silverite armor, tiny almost in stature. Thinner, with a slender waist and lithe arms that wrapped defensively around herself. Her dark, chestnut hair fell before her eyes, which burned a heated amber and danced, wide, with the beaming moonlight. Thin lips pulled down at the corners, making her look younger and more naïve; it was true she was still of a tender age, but Krem held no false pretenses as to whether or not she was a child. He'd witnessed the fluidity in which she fought, a lifetime of required self preservation leaving her destructive and dangerous to her enemies. He'd seen the way she led, each choice weighed and considered, each consequence placed heavily atop undeserving shoulders that somehow still found the strength to hold them all.

But standing here, now, Krem couldn't find that person. The Inquisitor. She was just Lavellan. Curled into herself and eyes unfocused. The strains of leadership had left her fidgety and - how he didn't realize before, he couldn't understand - unable to rest. She wasn't training to enhance her already flawless performance. She was training because it was all she had left, in the middle of the night, when whatever demons plagued her reared their heads.

Krem's grin slowly bled away, until all that remained was a sheltered sense of concern he couldn't help but feel. Not that he would voice it. Lavellan was the type of woman too strong to admit fault. Too careful to admit weakness, lest someone should exploit it. She'd see his concern as little more than pity, and that was unacceptable.

So Krem decided he would take action, instead. "Would you care for a sparring partner, milady?"

Amber eyes shot up his way, narrowing and immediately searching for any sort of amusement or tease along the words. "Why?" There was that tone, cold and calculated and warning.

He simply shrugged innocently and chanced a glance over his shoulder, back at the camp they'd set up earlier that very day. A low fire could still be seen burning from here, though he couldn't make out any figures. "Might as well. Grim won't mind holding the fort down a moment longer. And I'm figuring it'll be easier than the battering around that happens with Chief."

He caught another scoff, the end of a muttered, mumbled reply, then when he looked back her way she was unwrapping the belt that held her blades from her waist. The smirk she offered as she carefully stepped aside and set them gingerly atop the dew-covered grass was far from eager; Krem mused that it was actually serving as a cover for the frown she felt unentitled to sharing.

"Fine," she spoke coarsely, stepping back up and rolling her shoulders. "First one on their back has to forfeit the next fight."

Krem's brows rose slightly as she moved into a stance that left her looking as if she were ready to pounce. He mirrored the action, though it felt strange and brought the smile back to his lips. "A challenge? Can't say I'm not intrigued."

A humorless chuckle broke free from Lavellan's lips as she cocked her head one way then the other. "You just love them, I've heard."

Krem paused. But before he could react, even consider it really, she was lunging.

He forgot about watch duty after that.


	3. Isabela x F Hawke

"For Maker's sake, Bela. You're the one that bet everything on Wicked Grace last night. I'm not covering for you again." Hawke made a point to turn around then, back to the letter she'd been scribing to the Viscount. She had a limited time to get this done as it was; she didn't need the older woman adding to the weight already heavy atop her shoulders.

Isabela sighed dramatically, leaned back against the doorframe. Her arms came up in mock annoyance and she rolled her shoulders. "Hawke," she drawled, and though she would never plead there was definitely some sort of whine to her tone. "Come now. I thought we were friends. Would you really leave me to face this alone?"

The warrior smirked, though the gesture went unseen by her companion. "We are friends. However, since this is a fairly regular situation, I'd be completely fine saying that yes, I would leave you to face this alone." A low chuckle. "Besides. I know that I'd never see a silver back from what I loaned you."

The sound of the woman behind her huffing made her roll her eyes, but then she was tensing as Isabela's arms suddenly wrapped loosely around her neck, resting along her shoulders and bringing the pirate's face dangerously close to her own. She could feel Isabela's warm breath as she breathed out, felt the heat of her flesh and inhaled to find her senses deliciously assaulted by something leather and salty and spicy and sweet. Underneath it all was the undeniable memory of cheap booze.

Isabela made it a point to nuzzle her nose against the softness of Hawke's hair, lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Fine," she breathed, "be that way, sweet thing."

A shudder made its way down the younger woman's back, and a moan was bubbling just shy of her vocals as that casual lean against brought the Rivaini's breasts pressing into her. Hawke had to force herself to swallow, thickly. Damn it.

A gently nip was all it took.

The warrior dropped the quill her grasp had been threatening to break - which had actually begun to leave an ink stain at the end of the word she had just written - and turned. Isabela didn't move, didn't pull away, as Hawke reached up and fisted locks of ebony, twisting it around her fingers and feeling its weight and rough softness as she tugged. Their lips connected, a deep and needy sort of embrace that had Hawke battling down a growl as she forced her tongue into the other woman's mouth to map out every crevice.

She was briefly aware of Isabela's wandering hands across her being, shivered when she received a low moan for flicking her tongue against the back of Isabela's teeth. She inhaled sharply through her nose and groaned aloud as her companion pulled back; Isabela stayed close enough that they still breathed the same air, but far enough away that Hawke found herself whimpering at her inability to lean in and kiss her again. Hawke could feel a coil tightening in the bottom of her gut, making her painfully aware of just how exposed the robe she normally wore around made her.

The Rivaini smiled. A lewd, crooked smile that promised almost as much as her amber eyes did when Hawke finally met them, steadfast and strong. Her hands shook as they held on tighter to the woman's hair.

Isabela darted back in, left the quickest of pecks along already puffy lips, before finally pulling back, taking the warrior's wrists in her hands to untangle the clenching fingers. Her expression was one of rueful exasperation.

Hawke sensed she had something to say, but butted in. "Would you stay the night, Bela?"

Amber eyes twinkled. A low chortle and Isabela was stepping back, letting herself lean sideways against the wall. "After you refused me? I think not, sweet thing."

The younger woman couldn't help the slightly annoyed growl that slipped from her lips. "I would offer to pay for the night, but I don't want you to think I consider you a lowtown whore."

Isabela shrugged noncommittally. "There are worse things to be in this world. But no, I still have to refuse." She winked playfully, throwing in another crooked simper. "I'm afraid I have to go. A girl has to make a living somehow. Can't spend all my time sneaking into your lavish mansion, now can I?"

Hawke's mouth opened to respond but the pirate was already out the door, a small wave and look over her shoulder the only goodbye she gave. A moment of silence passed as the warrior sat in mute confusion, brows furrowed. That was awfully... dejecting.

She sighed and shrugged to herself and turned back around in her seat. Shifted to alleviate what was happening between her thighs. She didn't realize she was even shaking until she went to retrieve her quill and found her fingers almost rejected picking it up.

But... her robe felt somewhat lighter on one side. As if something were missing.

Brows furrowed, Hawke set her quill back down and stuck her hands in her pockets, fishing around a moment. Only to find that something was missing. A certain coinpurse. A certain coinpurse that a certain pirate had known about.

"That bitch," Hawke muttered, but it was laced with a fond sort of understanding.

She huffed, and could have sworn she heard Isabela laughing.


	4. Blackwall x Trevelyan

A low, quiet curse left her lips as she dropped her shield to the ground for what felt like the millionth or so time. She swore it wasn't because fighting was new to her in regards to with anything other than a longsword. It was just that, with the Mark along her palm, it made it increasingly difficult to heft around what was essentially another weapon alongside the sword she'd been lent.

From behind her came a sharp quip, though the teasing undertone was too prevalent to make the remark anything more than amusing. "Won't hurt so much as a nug with tactics like that."

Her lips twitched as she bent, picked up the wooden structure. She was fighting to keep a smirk at bay as she turned. "You're one to talk, the way you squeal at the first signs of a dragon."

Blackwall couldn't help guffawing, and she reveled in the the way it made his face light up. It seemed he'd been doing a lot less laughing and a lot more sulking ever since his identity crisis - in a lot of ways, Trevelyan still found it strange thinking Blackwall wasn't even Blackwall. Well, he was, but he was also Rainier. Which was confusing, but she was learning each day to look past the man's many faults and see that she hadn't lost who she'd come to love. She was just learning that he was more complex than she'd originally been able to see.

"I have good reason," he retorted, and she recognized when he began to roll his shoulders to pull at the muscle, readying for another charge her way. "Nugs can't fry or freeze me. Dragons can."

This time, she let the smirk slip along her features undeterred. She gripped the hilt of her wooden practice sword more securely, watched as he cocked his head to crack his neck. "You sure you wanna continue this? Try and one up me and I could have a rift above your head before anyone could blink," she teased.

She caught a smile pulling at his mouth as he lowered himself, eyes steadfast on her. "Perhaps. But I have a feeling you enjoy my company far too much to send me reeling in the Fade."

Trevelyan paused, thought about it. An all too familiar mischievous glint flickered to life in the dark, swirling confines of her eyes. "Very true. You're a lovely bed warmer, after all. Skyhold gets awfully cold."

Her laughter bounced off the stone around them as he blinked, caught off guard. She used his moment of openmouthed shock to rush forward, and send him sprawling in the dirt before he could try doing the same to her.


	5. Alistair x Aeducan

She nearly gagged as she forced down a mouthful of mead, the liquid bitter and burning in a way that made her eyes water. Not that it would stop her. Right now she would drink actual nug piss if it would get her royally intoxicated to the point of non-remembrance. That was all she wanted after everything that happened less than a day before.

Behind her came the snapping of a twig underfoot but she barely reacted. The most that happened was the twitch of her shoulders then her throwing her head back as she took another swig out of the bottle she'd snagged from Oghren's reserves. The man had brought an entire brewery with him; though uncalled for, Aeducan couldn't help admitting - at least for the moment - that she was grateful for it.

Anything that could wipe the memory of her brother's blood across the Assembly's floor from her mind was perfectly acceptable at the immediate moment.

"Ralon?" came an all too familiar voice.

Her teeth gnashed together as her grip on the bottle tightened. She didn't look back, simply shook her head and hunched forwards more. "Fuck off, Alistair. I don't want to talk about it so just let it go."

Of course he didn't do as she'd asked. Instead she felt the log she'd been leaning back against shift, felt as the man heavily dropped beside her. Close enough that their thighs brushed briefly before she was jerking away and partially turning from him. She couldn't stand the thought of having to look into his eyes. Not after everything. They hadn't even discussed her origins, and now Bhelen's death - and even Trian's, to some regards - hung over them like a wet fur.

Heavy, suffocating, restricting.

When he spoke, it was in a voice she didn't recognize. "You could have told me, Ralon. I would have understood."

She felt the anger rush through her blood. Before she could bite it back, her tongue was already lashing. "Hah! Like you told me about you being the king's love child? Pardon me for not sharing my oh so subtle secrets."

It was uncalled for. She knew that. And when she felt him tense without even touching him she cursed herself for her temper. For her lies. For existing in a world that seemed hell bent on crushing her under its heel.

How many more bad choices could she possibly make before her body broke under the weight of all that guilt?

"You're right." It was a quiet admission, one that caught her more than a little off guard. Aeducan twisted her neck, gaze meeting evenly with that of her fellow Warden's. He smiled a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I should have told you. I know that. And I'm sorry."

Something bitter, more so than the alcohol, caught in her throat. She scowled but didn't break his look. "It doesn't matter. We are who we are. I'm no longer an Aeducan, Alistair. That should have been perfectly clear when even the casteless were spitting at my feet."

He looked at her. Really looked at her. With eyes that were open and honest and deep in a way that had her head spinning. No, not his eyes. Had to be the mead. She'd drank too much, or maybe not enough. She looked away quickly, ignoring the heat along her neck, and downed another swig. Grimaced and nearly sputtered but kept herself together.

Out the corner of her eye, Alistair's hand came up. She looked to it a long moment before realizing what it meant. A little surprised but not at all argumental, she handed the third of the bottle she had left over.

He swished it around as he spoke, emotions she couldn't place painting his words. "None of that matters, you're right there. But you're still an Aeducan." He paused, tipped the bottle back. His face screwed up as he fought to not choke as he swallowed. Clearing his throat roughly, he shook his head and looked off somewhere to the side. "No matter what happened in Orzammar, you've proven yourself to us. To me. Whether you like it or not, your name is going to be a pretty big deal once this whole blight thing is over and done with."

Aeducan felt her eyes watering again. She tried to write it off as a late response to the drink. A very late response. But then she sniffled and actually cursed herself, not just quietly, and it drew a quiet chuckle from her companion.

Alistair looked back to her, held out the mead. His lips curved at the corners in a crooked sort of simper she couldn't help but love. Because it made his eyes crinkle at the corners, and made these very nearly nonexistent dimples show, and made him look years younger or maybe more mature all at once. She wanted to reach up and run her fingers through his hair.

But her hands were stained with so much guilt she didn't think she would ever be able to touch anything ever again without tainting it.

She sighed, heavily, and though she thought she probably still needed it she refused the bottle. He set it to the side and she turned back to rest fully against the log and their thighs touched in the fading twilight.

Somewhere behind them, she could faintly hear the voices of their companions. She knew that there were still so many questions she had to answer. For everyone. But for the moment, she was comfortable with this. With the quiet and the shockingly serious Alistair and the feeling that it was okay.

Alistair reached for and took her hand before she could pull it away. She started, jerked her head up and tried to free her hand but he just held on tighter. She whimpered in a way that was far more submissive than she'd ever allowed herself to sound before.

"Alistair, don't," she began, but he shook his head. Once, purposefully. It had her lips closed without him even asking it of her.

"We'll figure this out," he murmured, and his eyes danced in the dark. "You and me, together. Just like it's been from the beginning. Don't you dare start shutting me out now, Ralon."

Her breath came out in something close to a sob. She blinked and clutched at his fingers as if he would leave her alone at any second. Nothing had ever felt so simultaneously pathetic and right at the same time.

She leaned into him. Leaned her head against his shoulder and buried her face against the fabric of his undershirt and let herself breath him in. He was solid and warm and real beneath her.

Nothing else mattered. Nothing except her and him and that moment.

He held her, and she let herself cry.


End file.
